Why I Disapapeared

What happened

I stepped away for eight months. That time wasn't empty,  it was full of endings and beginnings, messy practical problems, and quiet, heavy grief. We lost two dogs, mourned family members, welcomed a baby, and discovered a series of unexpected home disasters that turned a renovation into a health hazard. All at once, every plan I had unraveled and reformed into something I didn't recognize.

Small joys and sharp losses

Becoming a parent has been one of the most beautiful, grounding experiences of my life. Watching my partner step into motherhood was a daily lesson in tenderness and wonder. Those moments of new life were a bright thread through a difficult year.

But joy sat beside loss. We said goodbye to beloved pets..Bobbi in July and Jackson in December and two close family members. Grief arrived in waves: at the vet, in the middle of a renovation, at the kitchen table, and in the quiet hours before sleep. Some days I tried to share, and I would just break down. Other days I simply couldn't find the words.

The renovation nightmare

What started as routine home improvements became far worse than dust and paint. We discovered multiple animals living inside our duct work: opossums, a groundhog, skunks, and possibly raccoons. They’d been using the ducts as a shelter and as a bathroom. The smell was awful, and attempts to clean the system proved impossible.

In the end we had to remove and replace large sections of ducting and parts of the ceiling, install a whole new HVAC unit, and treat the space as a health hazard. It’s one of those domestic crises that takes time, money, and emotional bandwidth - resources that were already stretched thin.

Letting go of expectations

The year forced a lot of letting go: possessions, places, friendships, and ways of being. We sold our condo and shifted how we thought about stability and routine. I learned (again) that grief isn't linear. Sometimes it shows up as a sudden sob; other times it’s a quiet, slow ache that changes the shape of everyday life.

Winter, rest, and the pressure of new years

The timing made everything feel heavier. Winter already nudges life inward..short days, less sunlight, and the tendency to move more slowly. Add holiday expectations and "new year, new me" pressure, and the result can be exhausting and unkind.

Winter is not the season for forcing growth. It’s a season for hibernation, for reflection, and for gathering strength for what comes next. I remind myself of that constantly now.

A small manifesto for being gentle

Be really gentle with yourself. Know when to let off the gas and when to come to a screeching halt.

Practical ways to be gentle with yourself

If anything from this past year feels familiar, here are practical steps that helped me and can help you move through heavy seasons without pretending everything is fine.

• Allow grief its time — Give yourself permission to feel, to cry, and to step back from projects or obligations without guilt.
• Set small, attainable goals — When large tasks feel impossible, break them down into tiny steps you can actually finish.
• Create simple rituals — Light a candle, make a cup of tea, or write a short note to someone you miss. Rituals anchor us when life feels chaotic.
• Ask for practical help — Accept meals, childcare, or someone to sit with you while you make phone calls or deal with paperwork.
• Address urgent practical problems — For physical hazards like mold, pests, or structural damage, call professionals and prioritize safety over perfection.
• Be patient with creativity — Creative output returns slowly after big life events. Protect the parts of your schedule that help creativity return naturally.
• Embrace seasons — Let winter be for rest. Plan for growth in spring, not before you’re ready.

Moving forward, one gentle step at a time

There are things I still miss: the routines, the pets, the versions of life I had imagined. There are new, luminous things too: a tiny human who rearranges priorities with a single coo and the slow rebuilding of daily rhythms.

If you’re coming back from a long absence or simply trying to survive a hard season, be kind to your own timeline. Healing is not a race. It is messy, unpredictable, and sometimes incredibly slow. Give yourself permission to rest, to grieve, and to find joy again in small things.

Parting thought

I am trying to be gentle with myself, and I invite you to do the same. If you had a difficult year, allow the start of this year to be soft. If things are going well, allow yourself to celebrate them quietly. Either way, be present, be patient, and be kind.